


A Whispered Plea

by XxXxDarkVampirexXxX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, Creature Inheritance, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Multi, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 06:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxXxDarkVampirexXxX/pseuds/XxXxDarkVampirexXxX
Summary: It was funny, Harry thought, in a very unfunny way, how he still knew so little about the Wizarding world despite having been part of it for the past few years. Creatures? Mates? What did all that mean? Harry didn't know what exactly was about to happen, but there was no way it could be good. Creature fic! Slash fic!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! Yes, yes, another new fic, I know. I've been wanting to do something like this for ages now, and finally have a decent idea, so here we go. Please read through the warnings because there are a couple of things in there that will affect some of you. I'm currently in the middle of writing chapter eight, so I've got a bit of an idea on where I want this to go, but nothing extremely detailed. But knowing that, you should also realize that any immediate questions you'll have are likely to be answered in those upcoming chapters. Those questions are likely to be, 'What about Harry's belongings? What does Voldemort look like? What kind of creature is Harry?' and other such things. I assure you, all of those are answered within the next two or three chapters. Then again, I'm sure a number of you will skip this AN, and ask those questions regardless.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of child abuse-nothing detailed. Self-harm, both vague and detailed (I won't be using trigger warnings, so make note of that if it's something that bothers you in any way). This is a yaoi/slash, creature, harem(ish) fic. The main pairing is LV-TMR/LM/SS/HP. Other pairings, should there be any, will be mentioned once thought of. If there's any bashing it won't be anything too major, and should be of AD, AW, MW...and maybe Ginny-haven't thought that far ahead yet, so that's something else that, along with other pairings, should be clarified later on. Oh, and this begins summer after fifth year-everything up until the beginning of this fic is canon unless stated otherwise. End of fifth year (the entire Ministry thing) was different and will be explained.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters...

Harry was desperate to get away from the Dursleys. He didn't care about security, didn't care about the Order's stupid rules or that there was a Dark Lord out to kill him. All he knew right now was that he desperately  _had_  to get away from this place, just for a little while. Before he exploded and ended up in trouble for using underage magic again.

He didn't bother to hide himself in any way and just walked out the front door as his aunt yelled at him. He would think about how he was going to regret the future punishment later, once he had to go back.

He barely noticed that no one stopped him as he nearly stumbled over to the park not too far away, before collapsing onto one of the swings. He was glad no one seemed to be around, and was aware that had as much to do with  _him_  as it did the gloomy weather. All the parents in the area who believed in the Dursleys' lies were aware that the 'Potter delinquent' often frequented the park during gloomy, rainy days, and had begun keeping their children away.

But that was fine. Harry was actually  _glad_  for it. He preferred to be alone, almost always had, really.

When a dog from somewhere down the street barked, Harry choked back a sob, mind immediately going to his godfather. Sirius was dead, and it was his fault. He knew it was. He had tried to blame anyone and everyone for it, but deep down, he knew the truth. It was his fault because Sirius had died in an attempt to save him.

He shouldn't have fallen for the trap. Such an  _obvious_  trap too! Why hadn't he listened to Hermione!? Why hadn't he listened to the desperate plea in his own mind!? Why hadn't he remembered the mirror and used it to assure Sirius that he was okay!? Why did no one know that there was a traitor in the Order!?

There were so many things he could have changed, so many things he could have done that wouldn't have resulted in his godfather's death. But he hadn't done any of them. He had done possibly the worst he  _could_  have done. And now Sirius was gone and couldn't come back and it was his fault and he was all alone again.

Forcing back tears, the teen pulled something out of the pocket of his jeans, wrapped in a wrinkled tissue. It was the blade of a razor.

Dudley had an entire pack of disposable razors, since he used them so often. Aware his cousin was hardly going to notice, Harry had taken one of them and broken apart the plastic to take the two blades out. While very sharp, they were also quite small, which made it easy to keep them hidden away from the eyes of anyone other than him.

He hadn't had them for long, only a year really-just since the last summer when he had been dealing with the guilt of Cedric's death, and his increasing anger, but already he was sure this had become an addiction. He couldn't fathom stopping, even though he  _knew_  what he was doing was wrong.

Rolling up the overlarge left sleeve, Harry braced his arm on his knee to steady it, and brought the blade to his skin, the sharp edge pressing in gently. He kept still and stared, breathing deeply, trying to regain control of himself.

It didn't work.

There was another bark from the dog, and the sound pushed the teen over the edge he had already fallen off of a handful of times over the past month. There were three more cuts on his left arm, joining the still healing scabs, and the many old scars.

Gritting his teeth, angry at himself, he stared at these neat lines, old and healed, recent and healing, and new and bleeding, and hissed as the first few drops of rain landed on the fresh wounds.

As the rain began to fall in a steadier rhythm, he tilted his head back, blade held loosely in his fingertips, breathing harshly through his nose, jaw clenched so tight it was making his teeth hurt. And when the dog howled almost mournfully, he forced himself to pretend that the rain was the only thing streaming down his cheeks...

He was startled abruptly when the blade was gently pulled out of his grasp. Lowering his head, Harry blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision, not that it mattered very much thanks to the raindrops on the lenses of his glasses. All he was able to make out was grey and silver.

For one bizarre moment, Harry thought he was looking at Draco Malfoy. Then he blinked again and realized with a start that he wasn't looking at his school nemesis, but rather, his  _father_ , Lucius Malfoy. That was actually even  _more_  bizarre.

Harry wondered if he was hallucinating at first, wondered if he had lost his mind. What was Lucius Malfoy doing in Little Whinging, kneeling down on the wet sand in front of him in this Muggle children's playground, a soft look of concern on his face?

"Come, Harry," Malfoy spoke gently. "I'm going to take you away from here."

Harry hesitated for a very long moment, staring into the man's grey eyes, weighing all the pros and cons he could think of on the spot. And then he decided that he just didn't care anymore, released a shaky breath, and accepted the outstretched hand, allowing Malfoy to pull him up to his feet and off the swing.

"Come, Harry," Malfoy repeated, carefully pulling the teen close to him. "Hold on tight."

Harry obeyed, moving in close, practically burying his face in the man's chest, eyes shut tight, glasses pressed harshly against his own face. Seemingly uncaring of the blood now staining his no doubt expensive shirt, Malfoy turned on the spot, and the two vanished in silence...

* * *

Lord Voldemort, bald, pale, and noseless was currently seated on his elaborate throne in the large ballroom of Riddle Manor, his current...base of operations, his Outer Circle Death Eaters just having been dismissed.

No one had any new information for him, and that made him feel rather irritated, because he had been counting on new information to push forward some of his plans. If nothing new was happening, at least nothing he was being told of, those plans were only going to be delayed for longer than he desired for them to be.

Half wishing either of his two lovers were around (Severus was at an Order meeting, and Lucius was watching over Potter), Voldemort had only just begun considering summoning Wormtail to torture a little, when a knock sounded on the doors to the ballroom.

"Enter," he called out.

The large, wooden doors swung open on their own and it was, surprisingly, Lucius who entered through them, hand in hand with a rather despondent looking Harry Potter.

The first thing Voldemort noticed was the blood that stained the blond's light blue shirt. His crimson eyes roamed over the man, attempting to locate the origin of the blood, but seeing no injuries. It didn't take him long to realize that this blood had clearly come from Potter. He frowned.

The two moved through the room, and came to a stop before his throne, Lucius bowing his head slightly in a show of respect, while Potter merely stared at the floor in silence.

"My Lord," he greeted. "I found Harry like this in his neighbourhood playground. There were no Muggles about."

"The blood?" he inquired after a beat of silence, choosing not to comment on the use of the boy's given name.

"He did it to himself," Lucius replied. He moved to stand behind the teen, and reached around him to raise his hands, wrists out. The cuts had stopped bleeding by this point, but were still plainly visible on his left arm.

Voldemort could not help but stare at the wounds. To him, Potter had always come across as...happy. Clearly that wasn't true. The many scars he could see proved that much. "Heal him."

Lucius did so, yet Potter still had no reaction. He simply stood still, continuing to stare down at the floor, blinking slowly as if in a stupor of some sort.

"Take him upstairs," Voldemort half ordered once Lucius had healed the three cuts. "Get him cleaned up and in bed in the spare room next to your own."

Lucius did not argue and inclined his head, taking the teen's hand again. "Come, Harry," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. And with that he led Harry out of the room, leaving the snake-like man alone once more.

Voldemort wasn't quite sure what to make of all this. Potter had...changed. He frowned in thought. Or perhaps this was the  _real_  Harry Potter, that had been kept hidden deep down inside, concealed behind a mask of cheerful, rebellious bravery. If that was indeed the case, then that mask seemed to have finally broken, revealing the brutal truth.

Lucius' behaviour was off as well. Why was he being so caring towards the Boy-Who-Lived? It was very...strange. For that matter, why had he himself asked for the boy to be healed, cleaned, and put to bed? Why did it matter? Why not simply kill him and be done with it? Potter was highly unlikely to fight back in his current state. Why was the thought of killing him suddenly coming across as...distasteful? As wrong?

The Dark Lord was beginning to feel very confused. He didn't understand what was going on, and that was a feeling he greatly despised...

* * *

Lucius meanwhile, took Harry through the manor and up the stairs to the room the Dark Lord had specified, and then into the attached bathroom. With a flick of his wand, the taps turned on, water spilling out into the large tub.

He was, of course, entirely aware that he could simply summon a House Elf and have them bathe the teen, but for some reason he couldn't even  _begin_  to explain, he wanted to do this himself. He had no idea why that was.

"I'm going to undress you now, Harry." He wasn't sure why Harry harmed himself, didn't know what prompted it, didn't know how long he had been doing it, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause a panic. Stripping the teen down without warning was something he knew could definitely cause that panic, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs right now. There really was no telling what happened behind closed doors.

But Harry made no reaction, so Lucius began slowly and cautiously, eyes on the teen's face, watching for signs of distress as he undressed him. There were none. Anger at the Muggles growing, Lucius helped Harry into the tub, unsure of what he could even say in such a situation.

He helped Harry bathe quickly but thoroughly, Harry even helping him, though his motions seemed very mechanical and automatic, like he didn't even know he was doing it. And when he was clean, dry, and dressed again, Lucius took Harry back into the bedroom, and helped him lay down in bed.

And all through this, Harry still said nothing, his eyes remaining glazed, and his expression blank. All Lucius could wonder was if the Light had finally succeeded in breaking their Saviour.

Just the thought of that infuriated him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was funny, Harry thought, in a very unfunny way, how he still knew so little about the Wizarding world despite having been part of it for the past few years. Creatures? Mates? What did all that mean? Harry didn't know what exactly was about to happen, but there was no way it could be good. Creature fic! Slash fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Thank you to all readers so far!

Lucius had been gone longer than he had thought he would be, Voldemort noted with a frown. Had something happened? He left the throne room and made his way up the stairs, his glamour fading as he did so, revealing his far more human appearance with his healthier pale skin, neat dark hair, crimson eyes-not to mention a proper nose and mouth.

He found Lucius standing outside the room Potter had been placed in, leaning against the door, head tilted back and eyes closed. His brow was pinched in what looked to be concern.

"Lucius?"

The blond sighed deeply and lowered his head, opening his eyes. "He's not well, Marvolo," he spoke quietly, using the Dark Lord's preferred name when he wasn't in his snake hybrid form.

"Beyond the obvious self-harm wounds, I presume?"

"Yes, beyond those, but no doubt feeding into them. He didn't say a word to me, didn't put up any sort of struggle. Even the expression on his face barely changed."

"And now?"

"He is asleep. I doubt he will wake any time soon. He appears exhausted."

Marvolo had noticed that himself. Just a single look at the boy's face had been proof enough. He glanced at the door Potter was behind, frown deepening.

"I wonder if Severus knows about any of this," Lucius spoke abruptly.

The older man turned his attention back to him. "About the self-harm?"

"That, and everything else. But I suppose he doesn't. Severus would surely have said something otherwise."

That was true, Marvolo realized. Severus was a man who was all too familiar with self-harm, among many other horrid things. It was he who normally aided students at Hogwarts who suffered being abused, or with problems such as depression, or anxiety, or self-harm, or thoughts of suicide, among other mental health problems. He was the one who aided them, because he was the only member of the staff who truly understood what those children were going through.

And Severus would never refuse aid to one of these students. It mattered not who they were, or the relationship they had, or what House they were in. He would have done all he could even for Potter.

But he hadn't said anything about that. Which meant he likely didn't know, or had been forbidden from doing or saying anything about it by Dumbledore, which was not such an odd or unheard of thing for the old man to do, in Marvolo's opinion.

Dumbledore made sure only those he wanted under his thumb were aided. That was why Severus himself had gone so long without help. Marvolo too had had many problems that had gone ignored.

But Potter was, well, Potter. The Saviour of the Light. The Boy-Who-Lived. Would Dumbledore really want his weapon to be like this?

Actually, yes, he would, Marvolo realized. Because it would mean Potter would have to rely on Dumbledore, and would greatly appreciate  _any_  help he could get. It was just another form of manipulation-something the Dark Lord knew Dumbledore was a master of.

But whatever the old man seemed to have been planning for Potter seemed to have backfired. The boy was clearly more broken than he thought. And now, by accepting Lucius' hand, Potter had willingly come to the Dark Lord.

What did that mean for the Light now? What did that mean for the Dark?

* * *

When Severus returned to Riddle Manor after the incredibly boring Order meeting he had been made to attend, he was quite surprised, and actually kind of alarmed to learn that Potter was here too. He was quickly filled in on what had happened, and then taken to see the boy for himself. And the sight that greeted him was hardly a pleasant one.

He stood at Potter's bedside, staring at his arms-staring at the scars, all such neat, straight lines. Even the oldest ones did not appear very old-a year or two at most, but even that was too much.

He had missed this. All of it. Whatever Potter had been going through, however long he may have been going through it, Severus had somehow missed each and every sign of it.

Missed or ignored?

And now all he could do was stare, filled with a strange sense of-of failure. Of guilt. He had told himself years ago, told himself when he had first become a professor (unwilling though it had been), that he would always do what he could to help these dangered students so they didn't go ignored like he had been. Maybe that meant he ignored the other ones, but what did that matter? Other professors would happily support and aid them. These few, the ones in danger of themselves, they had no one. They rarely did. No one who listened. No one who understood. No one who cared. So he always focused his attention on them. Most ended up in his own House, but that wasn't always the case.

It wasn't because Potter was a Gryffindor that he had missed the signs. It wasn't even entirely that Potter was a Potter. Both of those were a part of it, he knew, past judgements clouding his vision, but it weren't it entirely.

Potter was a good actor. A very good one, actually. Severus had been suspicious during the boy's first year-had seen certain signs, but had been hesitant to act, because the boy was Harry Potter. He had gone to Dumbledore, sure that even if the Headmaster would dismiss other cases of such things, he would never do the same to his Saviour.

But he had. Dumbledore had assured him, more than once, that Potter was perfectly fine. That it was simply homesickness. And since the boy had soon become what Severus thought to be a typical Gryffindor, acting out and talking back and slacking off, Severus had decided to believe what Dumbledore said.

And it had been a lie, Severus now realized. Potter hadn't been homesick at all. The quiet, curious boy Potter had initially been in his first year had likely just been Potter as he always had been up until that point.

Then the mimicking had started. Potter had begun to mimic his new friend, Ron Weasley. He had soon begun to speak like him, behave like him. Had he done that so he wouldn't lose his friend? Had he even realized he had been doing it?

Potter had changed a little when Granger had joined the boys too, hadn't he? He still acted more like Weasley, but he was happy to take his school work a little more seriously than Weasley, enough so to keep Granger content and off his back for the most part.

But even then there had been times, Severus realized as he thought back, where Potter had behaved in what he had thought to be an odd manner, that was surely how he  _really_  was.

Those times when Potter became quiet. When he became serious. When he became thoughtful. The times when he became angry and frustrated, exploding out instead of bottling things in and smiling along dutifully.

The guilt grew. The sense of failure did too. Severus reached down and took Potter's closest arm, gently running his calloused fingers over the scars and scabs. He had a salve that could vanish the scars. He knew it worked, because he had invented it to use on himself.

When Potter woke, he would ask if he wanted these scars on his arms gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. I should be posting the next chapter tomorrow, circumstances permitting, since I've already finished writing it. Comments? Kudos?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was funny, Harry thought, in a very unfunny way, how he still knew so little about the Wizarding world despite having been part of it for the past few years. Creatures? Mates? What did all that mean? Harry didn't know what exactly was about to happen, but there was no way it could be good. Creature fic! Slash fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Thank you to all readers so far!

Harry groaned in discomfort as he woke, his entire body oddly sore. Wait, not oddly sore. Just sore. Like it always was during the summer holidays, since the Dursleys liked to work him to the bone. Sometimes literally.

**"Two-leggs make such strange noises when they wake up."**

Harry's eyes shot open at the voice, and he bolted up in bed, looking around with wide, confused eyes. ...Where the hell was he? This wasn't his cupboard, and it certainly wasn't Dudley's second bedroom either. Then he spotted the (very big) snake that was curled up at the foot of the (also very big) bed, and his eyes only widened further as he remembered.

Lucius Malfoy had been in Little Whinging, and had asked for Harry to come with him. And he had accepted. This was Riddle Manor, Harry remembered. This was where Voldemort was. He couldn't really remember what had been said, but distinctly recalled seeing the Dark Lord seated on a pretty cool looking throne.

...Why was he still alive?

He hadn't expected to wake up, honestly. Wasn't sure he had wanted to either. He had fully thought that going with Malfoy-thought that ending up in the same place as Voldemort was going to result in his death. And that was a fact he hadn't entirely minded either.

Death would mean being reunited with his parents and his godfather. Even though it would also mean leaving behind all his friends and Moony too. Did he want that? To leave them?

Maybe he did. Wasn't he a burden on them? He thought he was. Thought he always had been. And besides, if he died, then he wasn't going to have to worry about the war anymore, was he?

The war was something he hated-didn't understand either. No one had bothered explaining anything about it to him. They just brought him into this world, into the Wizarding world, when they were ready for him, and then just-just  _expected_  him to want to fight their battles for them?

What kind of nonsense was that? What kind of world did they live in where this was something that was actually  _okay_? Weren't child soldiers a  _bad_  thing? Because that was what he was at this point, wasn't he? And had been since he'd been eleven years old.

Why was it that no one else could fight Voldemort? The prophecy? Sure, it did state he'd have some sort of power that the Dark Lord wouldn't know about, and yes, it did also say the one with the 'power to vanquish' the Dark Lord would be him, sort of, and it also said that 'neither could live while the other survived', but that didn't  _exactly_  mean that he was the one who had to kill him, did it?

That just meant that they both either had to live or die, didn't it? So yes, he'd have the power, whatever it might be, that no one else did, to kill Voldemort. But if he did use said power to kill Voldemort, then that meant he would have to die too. Because one of them couldn't live while the other was dead. That was what the prophecy said.

Which meant, in Harry's opinion, that fulfilling the prophecy would mean killing Voldemort, but also dying. And  _not_  fulfilling the prophecy would mean not killing Voldemort and also not dying himself.

So since he appeared to be the only one who could defeat the Dark Lord, his options were, literally, his own life or death. If he really wanted to die, he could take Voldemort out with him. But if he wanted to live, then he was going to have to let Voldemort live too. Right?

**"Are you well, little hatchling? You are very thoughtful. Is it because you have been sleeping for so many days?"**

Harry blinked and turned his attention back to the large snake curled up on the bed that he had completely forgotten about.  **"Oh, er, hi."**

The snake moved in a little closer.  **"Sss, good morning."**

**"You, uh, you're Nagini, right?"**

She dipped her head gracefully.  **"Yes, that is me."**

There was a somewhat awkward silence, Harry not really sure what to say, and even more unsure of what to think, considering Voldemort's pet snake currently wasn't trying to kill him.

**"Shall I inform Marvolo that you have awakened?"**

**"Er, sure."**   _Marvolo_? he wondered curiously. Was that the name Voldemort was using right now? He knew the man hated the name Tom. Was that why he was using his middle name now? Harry supposed that made sense.

He watched the serpent slither off the bed and across the floor, to and through the door that opened for her on its own. Once the door was shut again, Harry yawned, stretched, and got out of bed.

He felt...strangely okay for once-physically, that is. He had felt very sore when he had first woken, but now, perhaps a good ten minutes later if not more, he actually felt alright, the soreness suddenly gone. Better than alright, really.

Not bothering to put much thought into it, he explored the room curiously. It was of a decent size, not huge, but certainly bigger than any of the rooms at Number Four. It was decorated in nice, neutral tones and wooden furniture, and while not entirely Harry's style, it was hardly bad.

He found the attached bathroom then too, vaguely remembering it from before. There was nothing special about it-it was just a nice bathroom, and he took care of his business before moving to the sink so he could wash his hands. It was only now that he glanced up into the mirror in front of him, only to do a double take.

"What the hell...?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much, I know, but I wanted to focus a bit on Harry's thoughts because there's going to be a whole lot of talking coming up soon. Anyway, comments? Kudos?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was funny, Harry thought, in a very unfunny way, how he still knew so little about the Wizarding world despite having been part of it for the past few years. Creatures? Mates? What did all that mean? Harry didn't know what exactly was about to happen, but there was no way it could be good. Creature fic! Slash fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Thank you to all readers so far!

It was funny, Harry thought as he gazed into the large mirror in the bathroom, in a very unfunny way, how he still knew so little about the Wizarding world, despite having been a part of it for the past few years. Then again, five years wasn't a long amount of time at all, so maybe it wasn't as odd as he was thinking it was.

He stared at his reflection, but that reflection no longer matched what he looked like. Or rather,  _he_  no longer looked like he once had. There were differences now-just a couple of small ones, but they were obvious to him. And they didn't make any sense.

The first thing he noticed, of course, was that his vision seemed to have improved, because he wasn't wearing his glasses and could still see perfectly clearly. The next thing he noticed were his ears. They were kind of elongated, not quite as long as the ears House-Elves had, but not far from either, but they were pointed at the ends the same way.

He didn't really see anything else odd, from what he could tell. His eyes were the same, and other than maybe feeling a little softer, so was his hair. He was still the same height, he thought, squinting into the mirror. It was possible he was a couple of inches taller, but that could just have been wishful thinking. His skin seemed mostly the same too, maybe just a little clearer. That painful pimple on his chin seemed to be gone, so that was cool at least.

So what the hell  _was_  this? What the hell was going on? Harry tugged at one of his ears sharply, and since it hurt, he was pretty sure it really  _was_  his ear. But why were they long and pointed and...Elfey like this? Why was his vision better?

Was Voldemort behind this? Was Malfoy? He didn't know for sure-had no answer. So he quickly washed his face and rinsed his mouth, before heading back into the bedroom. He was approaching the door when it opened, causing him to stop in his tracks.

It was Voldemort who walked in, looking far more human than Harry last remembered seeing him. Honestly, the only reason he even knew this was the Dark Lord was because he currently looked like an older version of who he had dubbed 'Diary Tom'-he had a good decade, if not more, on him though.

But for some reason, Voldemort seemed to be as surprised to see him, as Harry himself was.

"What in Salazar's name has happened to your ears?"

Harry blinked, confused. "What? I thought you did this!"

"I did no such thing."

"Well I didn't do this! I just woke up like this!"

"Is everything al-ah." Lucius Malfoy had entered the room now too, and the moment his gaze landed on the teen, he too paused in place, eyes widening. "Well, this is...unexpected."

No one spoke for a moment, before Harry, growing frustrated, said, "Is anyone going to tell me what's happening any time soon?"

Voldemort stared at him for a moment longer, before turning on his heel and leaving the room. Malfoy watched him go, and then sighed and shut the door behind him, before approaching the teen and gesturing to the bed. He waited for Harry to sit down, following suit once he had.

"Have you turned sixteen yet, Harry?" he asked.

Harry blinked, confusion growing. "Er, I guess that'll depend on the date. Is it August yet?"

"It is, yes. The second, specifically."

"I've been here for four days? Er, then yeah, I turned sixteen on the thirty first of July."

Malfoy inclined his head. "That was when you were asleep. You were exhausted when you arrived, which is the reason why you initially slept so much. But after your birthday, you had another reason to continue sleeping. Are you aware of the inheritance magical children go through on the day of their sixteenth birthday?" he asked curiously.

Harry only shook his head. This was nothing he had heard of before, not from anyone, and not in any book he had read-not that that was many. Hermione certainly hadn't said anything, and she had turned sixteen almost a year ago, hadn't she? Ron hadn't said anything either, and his own sixteenth birthday had been back in March, right?

Malfoy didn't seem surprised that he didn't know, or bothered by it either. He simply nodded again and began to explain briefly. "At sixteen, magical children go through a maturity of sorts. It is not the same as coming of age, which takes place at seventeen. The latter of those is judged by law, the former by magic itself."

The teen frowned. "What happens during this maturity thing?"

"This is when one's magical core finally...ceases growing, in a manner of speaking. You start off with a very small magical core when you are born. As you grow, the core does as well. Once a child is four or five years old they begin showing initial signs of having magic. This is the average age. Some children will show signs earlier, some later."

Harry nodded as he listened. That made sense to him so far. Even the beginning to show magic part. He had starting showing signs when he was maybe three, from what he was aware of. Hermione had said she was five when she started, and Ron had been pretty young too-Harry remembered the teddy bear story. Neville had been older though, hadn't he?

"Even when you begin your studies," Malfoy continued, "your magical core continues to grow. This is why children's magic is often erratic-because their core is still changing and growing. Hasn't stabilized yet, for a lack of better words."

"So...so it stabilizes when you turn sixteen?"

"Not quite. The stabilization happens in two phases. At sixteen, your core finally ceases growing, and it goes through the first phase of stabilizing. At this point, you generally also receive an..increase in your magical strength. It may be more obvious in some than others. When you turn twenty two, your core stabilizes further, once more granting an increase in power. When this happens, you have reached your full magical strength, and in most cases, cannot grow stronger in that manner."

"Oh. You can't get stronger at all?" That sounded kind of odd. Did that mean Dumbledore had been as strong as he was since he had been only twenty two? Voldemort too?

"There are..cases," Malfoy replied somewhat hesitantly, "rare ones, that may increase your magical strength later on, but this only happens to few. It is difficult to predict. Many who receive this extra strength consider it a gift from Mother Magic. Most of the time, the larger your magical core is, the stronger your magic is. The smaller your core is, the weaker your magic-there are exceptions to that, naturally."

Harry's brow pinched as it furrowed, his confusion returning again. "So that's what this inheritance thing is?"

"Mostly, yes."

"Mostly?"

Malfoy hesitated. "You are, of course, aware of what magical creatures are?"

"Yeah."

"Some inherit the blood of these creatures."

The teen eyes widened. "Inherit...their blood? What does that mean?"

"They become these creatures themselves."

"B-become? I-is that why-?" His hand rose to one of his ears, before lowering again.

"Yes," Malfoy returned with a nod. "Essentially, what happens is someone in your bloodline in the past-an ancestor, once...mated with a magical creature of some kind. Their child then inherits the blood of whichever parent was the creature, but they may not be the creature themselves. In most cases, the blood remains dormant in future members of this line."

"And when it doesn't?"

"When a member of the line is powerful enough-magically, and their core is large enough, then that creature blood, which has remained dormant in their line, may...awaken during their inheritance at sixteen years old."

"This...what?" Harry frowned, understanding, but at the same time, unable to.

"It can be difficult to explain," Malfoy acknowledged, "however, this is something that I have experienced myself."

Green eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes. One of my ancestors, I am unaware of who, once mated with a Veela."

"A-a Veela?" Harry knew what they were, of course, though he hadn't thought men could be one too. Maybe that wasn't all too surprising though, he realized, looking at the man before him.

"Hmm. That Veela blood remained in the Malfoy bloodline, awakening every now and again in other ancestors."

"Is Mal-er, Draco one too? He already turned sixteen too, didn't he?"

"He did, yes, in June, but he is not one. The last before me was my great grandfather, I believe, and perhaps a child Draco has may be one. There is no way of knowing until the child turns sixteen."

Harry nodded here, finally beginning to understand. "What am I, then?" he asked curiously.

"An Elf of some sort, clearly, if we were to go by your ears. There are different races of Elves, House Elves being one of them, though you obviously are not of that particular race. It may take some research to find out for sure, but there are generally signs to help."

"Then...that means that someone in..probably my dad's family..."

"Mated with an Elf of a particular race, yes," the man agreed. "As your mother was a Muggleborn, it is unlikely that it was her-this tends to happen in Pureblood lines most often. That Elf and Potter had a child or children together who held the Elf blood, and these children had children who held the Elf blood. It will have remained in the Potter bloodline ever since, easily skipping generations at a time. And now that Elf blood seems to have awoken in you at your inheritance two days ago."

This was so weird. Harry didn't really know what to think about it. He understood the logistics of it now, sure, but still... "So what does this mean? How does this affect me?"

"You will have to discover which Elf you are first, for that question to be answered. The only thing I  _can_  answer, is that you are likely to have a mate."

Harry's head snapped up. "A mate?"

"A...soulmate of sorts, though that is not a word commonly used to describe them. Although it is entirely possible to have more than one. In history up until now, it appears that magical creatures who are also witches or wizards, tend to have mates. It is not known why. You likely know your mate or mates, should you have any, and will already have some sort of relationship with them, positive or negative."

The teen hesitated. He had a question, but wasn't sure he wanted to ask, mainly because it was really awkward. "Do...er, do you..."

"Do I have a mate?" Malfoy spoke, a small smile of amusement on his face. He laughed lightly when Harry nodded, making note of the teen's flushed cheeks, then said, "I do, actually. Two that I am aware of. You know them both. Severus and Marvolo."

If Harry had been drinking something right now, he would have done something very dramatic when he heard this. Instead, his eyes widened almost comically. "Snape and Voldemort? Seriously? You're not about to tell me they're also Veela, are you? And-and what about your wife?"

Malfoy continued smiling, fortunately not offended by the questions. "My wife and I are in a marriage of convenience. It is merely a formality. I needed an heir to continue on the Malfoy line, and as both of my mates are men, it is impossible for them to do anything in that manner, not that they even desire children of their own. Narcissa was expected to marry, though she has long since had a lover her family did not approve of. We married, had our son, and are content with our own partners. Draco is aware of this, and understands it, though I believe he is still too young to  _truly_ understand. And no, Severus and Marvolo are not Veela themselves. Severus is a Vampire, and Marvolo an Incubus."

Harry's mind was reeling. This was just  _so fucking weird_! He had thought Malfoy was going to make things  _easier_  for him to understand, but now he was even  _more_  confused than before.

Malfoy was a Veela, Snape was a Vampire (which he should have expected honestly), Voldemort was some sort of...sex demon? And Harry himself was like, an Elf? And he probably had one or more mate(s) that he already knew in person, but didn't know were mates. And-and-

"Calm down, Harry." Malfoy was leaning in close to him, large hands on the teen's shoulder, brow pinched in concern.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm fine," he spoke quickly, trying to calm himself back down before this could get any worse. "This is just-just-"

"Hard to come to terms with. I understand. Do you require some water?"

"No, it's alright, I'm fine." The teen took a few more breaths, and then looked back up, calm again. "Why did you bring me here?"

Malfoy released him slowly, and leaned back, his brow still furrowed. Why Harry had the sudden urge to smooth those wrinkles he didn't know or even want to think about right now. "I..." But the man trailed off before he could really even begin. Harry didn't know it, but there really  _wasn't_  much of an answer to that. He sighed. "Because you don't deserve to hate yourself the way you do."

Harry blinked, and then his expression closed off, even as he brought his arms closer to his body, as if in a show of defence. He didn't want to talk about this right now. Didn't even want to think about it.

"Are you hungry?" Malfoy asked him abruptly.

The teen nodded, though he said nothing, not trusting himself to speak, and a moment later was following the man out of the room and through the manor so he could get something to eat, both of them walking in silence.

There was so much that needed to be said, but neither of them were aware of how to say any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. Lots of talking, sorry, but it needed to be done. Also, before you start questioning the creatures they are, I wanted everyone to be something different. Why? Because I felt like it and I'm the one writing this. The Elf thing will be explained more later, of course. Comments? Kudos?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was funny, Harry thought, in a very unfunny way, how he still knew so little about the Wizarding world despite having been part of it for the past few years. Creatures? Mates? What did all that mean? Harry didn't know what exactly was about to happen, but there was no way it could be good. Creature fic! Slash fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! One thing I'd like to clarify. I hinted at it in the previous chapter in something Lucius said when speaking of needing an heir, but this fic, like all my other fics, will have no pregnancy-mpreg in this particular case, adoption, or fostering-no kids. None. I know most creatures fics do, but I've already given an explanation for how the creature blood is carried. It's always there in the blood after the initial inclusion however many generations before, and remains dormant until someone is magically powerful enough to awaken it. You don't need your own kids to pass it on to-it'll already be there.
> 
> Now, what about Marvolo, Severus, and Harry having heirs for their own names and titles like Lucius has in Draco? That's not necessary. Incubus or not, Marvolo is already immortal and is very sure of that immortality. Why have an heir if you're so sure you're never going to die? Severus doesn't give a shit about passing along names, titles, genetics, yadda yadda, and as a vampire is also immortal in a sense. And while Harry isn't entirely immortal, more about his age span will be explained soon, and that age span will make it so there's literally no reason for him to even think about kids anytime soon. And the biggest reason of all for them not wanting kids? They just don't want to. And if that isn't something you like, then feel free to stop reading, cause ain't no one gonna change my mind on this particular topic. I hope Harry gets bingoed less than Violet does.

When Harry and Malfoy reached the dining hall, only one of them was surprised to find the large table already occupied. Snape and Voldemort were here too, clearly in the middle of their own meals. They looked up when the other two entered, but neither of them said anything either. The other two ended up joining them, and all of them simply ate in an awkward silence.

Harry had so many questions on his mind that he was desperate to ask and have answers to, but he honestly had no idea how to voice any of them, especially around present company. But he supposed there was one thing he really did need to ask, so, somewhat hesitantly, he voiced, "Um, is there any chance I can go back to Privet Drive to grab my stuff? I'd rather Uncle Vernon not set them on fire, or kill my owl."

"...I will take you."

Harry stared at the man who had spoken, not having expected him to be the one to answer. "Uh, yeah." He cleared his throat. "Er, thanks, professor."

Snape inclined his head but said nothing more, and everyone resumed eating, the silence slightly less, but still rather awkward. Harry noticed Malfoy and Voldemort (or Marvolo, rather), exchange a glance, but they didn't say anything either. Harry couldn't really blame them. He hadn't thought Snape would offer to take him either. If anything, he had figured Malfoy would.

Was there a reason for this?

* * *

It was maybe fifteen minutes later that Harry found himself back in Privet Drive, this time with Snape at his side, which was actually a whole lot stranger than it sounded.

It was Harry who started walking, Snape following behind him, and it wasn't long before they approached Number Four. Here, the teen paused at the door, hesitating. Uncle Vernon wasn't home, fortunately (his car wasn't parked in the drive), and since it was summer and fairly early in the day, Dudley was sure to still be asleep. Which meant the only person he was going to have to deal with was Aunt Petunia. Admittedly, knowing that wasn't helping matters at all.

He was surprised when Snape was the one to knock on the door firmly. Maybe he was just impatient and didn't want to wait for him to do it himself, the teen figured.

The door opened just seconds later (was Aunt Petunia expecting someone?), and the thin, horse faced woman herself came into view. She just stared at first, before a sneer crossed her face.

"Back, are you? Well you aren't staying here any longer you useless whelp."

Harry wasn't exactly sure why, but all this seemed a whole less intimidating with Snape standing here with him. Maybe because he found the Potions Master to be  _more_  intimidating. "I'm not here to stay," he returned as calmly as he could. "I just came to get my stuff and my owl."

Aunt Petunia's eyes narrowed, and then widened. Harry only had to glance behind him to learn why. Snape had pulled out his wand. He was holding it rather casually, but the underlying threat was there.

"Get inside!" the woman hissed. "Take your things and get out!"

Harry didn't argue. He slipped into the house and hurried up the stairs to Dudley's second bedroom, which he had never really considered his own room, even despite the few years he had had it for. To him, the only part of this house was  _was_  his, was his cupboard.

He didn't have much in the room, just a few small things under the loose floorboard and Hedwig's cage (the owl hooted in relief when she first saw Harry). So he grabbed those and made his way back down to where Snape and Aunt Petunia seemed to be glaring at one another. Snape was definitely winning.

When Harry reached them, the man's dark eyes turned to him instead, making him pause in place. "Is that it?"

"No, everything else is locked in the cupboard-the one under the stairs there."

Aunt Petunia made no move to unlock it, so Snape did so himself, tapping his wand on the thick padlock, opening it instantly. Gently setting Hedwig's cage down, Harry knelt down in front of the cupboard's now open door so he could pull out his heavy school trunk and his Firebolt. The trunk was locked as well, but he knew the Dursleys wouldn't have rifled through it (they were too scared to do that), which meant all his more important items inside it would still be safe.

"That's everything," he said to Snape.

The man nodded and shrank the trunk and broom so they could be carried easier. "Release your owl outside. She will find her way to the manor herself, I presume."

Harry stuffed his things in his pocket, picked up the cage again, and the moment he and Snape were outside, the door was slammed shut and locked behind them. Neither of them paid it any mind. Snape unlocked Hedwig's cage, and the second the door was open the owl flew out with a thankful hoot, flying off immediately to no doubt hunt something to eat. She must have been starving, poor thing. The cage was also shrunk down and stashed away in Harry's pocket, and that was that.

The two males made their way back down Privet Drive, and it was when they turned a corner, hidden from view from any prying eyes (and in this neighbourhood there were bound to be many), it was Snape who spoke first.

"The...scars on your arm," he began slowly, ignoring the way Harry stiffened immediately, "do you wish them gone?"

Harry blinked. "G-gone?"

"There...is a salve," Snape continued just as slowly as before, his tone of voice somewhat hesitant, "one I created. It will...allow the scars, even the oldest ones, to fade away."

"Oh..." Harry frowned.  _Did_  he want the scars gone? Well, of course he did, but...maybe not just yet? He didn't think this was something he could explain at all, but the scars, while horrifying and reminding him how weak he was, were also sort of a...satisfying sight. They were something that proved to him that this, at least, he had control over-that there was  _something_  in his life that he had control over. And just because these people had helped him, didn't mean everything was about to change and suddenly become perfect and amazing and happy. What would be the point in getting rid of the scars when there were only going to be more appearing soon? Getting rid of the scars was pointless until he could also get rid of his stupid, dangerous, necessary addiction.

And maybe Snape  _did_  understand what he was thinking, at least a little bit, because, expression not changing, he said, "You may come to me when you are ready. The salve will always be there, and it is not so difficult to create a fresh batch if one expires without being used."

Those words filled Harry with more relief than anything else so far had. He hadn't thought Snape would get it, had actually kind of expected a lecture that he wasn't jumping on the chance to use the salve immediately. He would one day-or at least hoped so, but right now, that wasn't something he was ready for.

And it actually made him really happy that Snape seemed to understand that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. Comments? Kudos?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was funny, Harry thought, in a very unfunny way, how he still knew so little about the Wizarding world despite having been part of it for the past few years. Creatures? Mates? What did all that mean? Harry didn't know what exactly was about to happen, but there was no way it could be good. Creature fic! Slash fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Thank you to all readers so far!

When they returned to the manor (although he wasn't sure which manor it was), he headed back to his room (or at least the room he had been sleeping in) to put his things away, Snape enlarging everything just outside the door.

Harry didn't know if there was even a point in any of this. For all he knew, he could die at any moment. And yet here he was, putting his belongings away as if he were going to be staying here for an extended period of time.

Well, maybe Snape and Malfoy weren't going to kill him (he'd been alone with them already, which meant they could have done it then), but what about Voldemort? He was here in the manor too. Was the Dark Lord seriously going to let him live? Harry wasn't really sure he even  _wanted_  the answer to that...

When everything was put away, the teen left the room, wondering if he was allowed to explore the manor. He supposed since none of the men had said anything to claim otherwise, he could. So that was what he did, wandering through the corridors and trying door handles.

Many of these doors were locked, which didn't surprise him at all. He honestly would have been more surprised to find them  _unlocked_  with him in here. All this told him was that he  _was_  allowed to explore, but only certain areas and rooms. That was fine though. Harry didn't mind. It was better than being locked up in a single room all summer anyway.

He didn't meet anyone as he wandered-didn't even pass any moving portraits, which meant this likely wasn't a wizarding world manor then. ...Was it Riddle Manor maybe? That sort of made sense, right? After all, hadn't Voldemort been...resurrected in the graveyard just near here?

"Huh?" Finally a door swung open when Harry tried the handle, and he paused in place, surprised to find himself standing outside a library of sorts. Well, this was a good place to stumble upon. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and moved in further, taking in the sight of the no doubt hundreds of books that sat on the massive shelves.

He had research to do, he knew. He didn't think Malfoy had lied to him about the whole creature thing, but he definitely wanted to check things out for himself. And he needed to know what kind of...Elf he apparently was. He sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Well, gotta start somewhere, I guess," he mumbled...

* * *

Harry didn't know how long he sat in that library for, before a sound of triumph left him. He had finally found some relevant information. It was about time! He straightened in his armchair, green eyes narrowed as he focused all his attention on the words written in the thick tome in his hands.

Malfoy had definitely been right when he said there were multiple races of Elves-five, specifically: High Elves, Sea Elves, Wood Elves, Dark Elves, and House Elves.

Harry had heard of all save the last one vaguely through Muggle fantasy, so it was interesting to learn more about them. And since he obviously wasn't a House-Elf, he focused more on the other four, and it wasn't long after that that he narrowed his own...Elf heritage or whatever it was, down to two-High and Wood Elves.

They were similar in a lot of ways and Harry wasn't sure which of the two he was. All of the first four races were described as being very fair, but the High Elves were the tallest and fairest of all of them. Wood Elves were somewhat shorter in comparison, but not as short as Sea Elves who were very nimble. But Wood Elves were fair haired, while High Elves were mainly dark haired-like Dark Elves. High Elves were a lot more powerful when compared to the others-far more magically gifted, while Wood Elves were more skilled with animals and nature.

He was shorter like a Wood Elf. His hair was dark like a High Elf. His magic, from what he knew, was stronger than most people. He read over the similarities and differences for a few more minutes, debating, but ultimately was unable to come to a conclusion. He needed to look into both races more and rose to his feet, moving to find more books...

* * *

Harry was once again standing in front of the mirror in his room (though he was shirtless this time), examining himself closely. Having narrowed his race down to either High or Wood Elves, Harry had done further research into the finer details. Some of those had been more physical, which was why he had returned to the loo in his room to where the mirror was.

All Elves had a particular marking-a rune that appeared on their bodies when they reached the age of maturity (which was about a hundred and fifty years old if you were purely an Elf), or when you awakened to your heritage (which was sixteen years old if you were a wizard or witch).

These runes were different for each race, and literally  _meant_  that specific race, and were located on a different part of the body, again depending on which of the races an Elf was. House Elves had theirs on the back of their right ears, which explained why Harry had never noticed it on Dobby or Winky. Wood Elves had theirs on their upper left arms. Sea Elves had theirs on their backs, over their spines. And Dark and High Elves (who were inherently the same because Dark Elves were essentially 'fallen' High Elves being punished for a serious crime of some sort) had theirs on their chests, by their hearts, though a Dark Elf's rune would be sort of...warped, in a very visible way.

Harry didn't see anything when he first looked in the mirror, but that didn't surprise him. Apparently Elves like him-wizards and witches who woke to an Elven heritage, would sort of automatically have this kind of...glamour on over them. That was how they kept the new changes hidden (since not everyone appreciated magical creatures or creature blood). And right now, Harry had part of the glamour on himself, which was why the only real difference he had noticed were his ears.

The book had said he needed to relax and focus his magic on removing the glamour-on  _willing_  it to be gone. It wasn't a spell like the glamour charm (which Harry had long since been intimately familiar with). And sure enough, after a moment of relaxing and focusing on this thought, the glamour faded.

The new length and point of his ears seemed more prominent now, his skin definitely smoother though not exactly devoid of the already existing scars he had on his arms and forehead and back of his hand. His hair was way softer now too, and Harry was sure that if he grew it out, it would actually sit flat, but at the moment remained as messy as it always was. His eyes were still green like always, but there was something...brighter about them-he didn't know what exactly. He still looked like himself, but at the same time, seemed somehow... Hmm... Harry really couldn't put his finger on it. All he could say was that there  _was_  something different about him. His reflection looked almost...delicate, which would make sense since Elves were supposed to be fair and so on. But it was still kind of weird. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

But he quickly focused his attention on what he had come here to look at in the first place. The rune. He didn't have to search hard for it. It sat right there on his chest, right by his heart, it's shape something akin to a small bolt of lightning sitting in the centre of an arch. The shape wasn't surprising as he had seen it in the book. All Elves of the same race had the same rune on the same part of their body.

He was a High Elf.

* * *

Harry returned to the library and resumed his research, this time focusing solely on High Elves.

They were generally quite tall, which made Harry think his own height, or lack thereof, had more to do with malnutrition than anything else. The Dursleys had been prone to withholding food from him, and that had affected him in many ways, including his trouble in growing. His parents had both been tall, and so had their parents, according to Sirius. Aunt Petuina was pretty tall herself, and even Dudley was tall. There wasn't much of a reason, genetically at least, for Harry to be as short as he was. Sure he could have just inherited some random family member's recessive shortness, but he was positive it had more to do with the Dursleys than genetics.

Most often, they had dark hair, usually black or a dark brown. Malfoy had told him creature blood mostly always came from the pureblood side of the family, so the hair thing made sense to Harry, since his mum had had red hair. Then again, it could easily be that red hair was recessive, since Aunt Petunia had dark hair. But Harry was inclined to agree with Malfoy on this point, because it seemed unlikely that a Muggle in his mum's family would have a child with an Elf. ...Unless they'd also been a Muggleborn. Who knew?

Pure High Elves, like other Elves, had their own inherent magic, though their own was far stronger than that of the other races of Elves. Wizards and witches who awakened High Elf blood within them, like Harry had, tended to have very large magical cores and surprisingly powerful magic, which made it easy for them to cast high level spells, but at the same time, meant their incredible magic made it somewhat difficult to cast low level or extremely precise spells. That made a lot of sense to Harry too. He could easily recall being able to cast a Patronus in his third year (which had been fairly difficult yet doable), but the year before had had trouble turning a beetle into a button, which was a million times simpler. There were plenty of easier spells he could remember struggling with in some capacity, even though he could cast stronger or higher level spells with just a bit of practice.

In what was now considered ancient times, it was the High Elves who used to rule over all the other kinds of Elves. There were very few full blooded Elves left now, the races mostly dying off because of their reluctance to welcome new blood into their lines, which Harry thought was kind of ironic. The only reason House Elves were winning out on the whole population side, was because they were capable of having more children than the other races, who had a strangely low fertility or birth rate-Harry didn't entirely understand that part, but he figured it was maybe because these other Elf races just lived for soooooo long. At even a thousand years old, a full blooded Elf would be considered  _young_! To Harry, that was utterly baffling.

The Elves were immortal as well, but only in the sense that they couldn't die of old age or diseases or things like that. They could still die from major accidents or excessive blood loss or by being killed. The book didn't say anything about natural causes though, like heart attacks or something. But wizards with Elf blood, like Harry, were different.

Partial Elves had an extended life span of between five to eight hundred years, but weren't immortal. Because they still had human blood, they  _could_  still die from natural causes, but it wasn't quite as likely so long as they remained healthy. They were resistant to diseases, but could still get sick, which Harry found to be pretty interesting.

And then, of course, was the whole 'mate' thing, which Harry had sort of put off looking into until now, because he still wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Like Malfoy had said, Elves like Harry did indeed have mates, and more often than not, had more than one. The maximum seemed to be three, but according to the book, someone had once had  _seven_ , which Harry thought to be completely crazy. He couldn't even imagine himself in a proper relationship with  _one_  person, let alone, well, anything more than that.

The book claimed that these mates weren't exactly pre-destined or anything, and had something to do with the strength of those the Elf-Wizard had important interactions with in their life, but no one really knew anything for sure, because it was kind of hard to research or find notes or records about things like this. So, like Malfoy had told him, he was bound already know his mate(s), who would be someone(s) he'd had really...memorable experiences with.

But that didn't really help narrow things down, did it?

The book didn't give any explanation for how he could find out who these mates were. Apparently, even though it could take anywhere from a few minutes after awakening his true heritage, to a few years, eventually he would 'just know'.

Harry didn't find that to be at all helpful. Well, whatever. He'd think on that more once he got to that point. He had more important things to worry about beyond being an Elf. Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Dumbledore and the Order, Hogwarts and his friends, and along with all of that, the war.

Whoo boy, things were about to get a lot more complicated, huh?

* * *

"He is still in the library?"

Marvolo, Severus, and Lucius were seated in the Dark Lord's study, all three of them sipping drinks slowly as they spoke. It was late, the sun having long since set.

"He is, yes," Lucius replied with an incline of his head. "He's quite focused on his research. He didn't even notice when I entered."

Marvolo frowned slightly and lowered his gaze to the amber liquid in his glass. "I see..." He was still rather...confused about all this, and unable to really understand why. And even stranger, all of this had been going on for a little longer than he had initially thought-since the beginning of July, actually.

When Potter had returned from Hogwarts, Marvolo had sent Lucius to watch over him. At the time, he had simply treated it as wanting to have one of his own-one of his trusted keep a close eye on his enemy to make sure he didn't do anything to interfere in his plans.

But now that he thought about it, what could Potter, still underage and unable to use magic around Muggles, possibly do from that horrid Muggle neighbourhood? How could he possibly have done  _anything_  from there to ruin his plans? Obviously that wasn't likely, and Marvolo knew it too. So why  _had_  he sent Lucius there? And why was it that he was so...alright with the thought of letting Potter live? Of  _wanting_  him to live?

There was a strange...feeling inside him. In his mind, in his body, in his gut. A strange and oddly familiar feeling. There was a sort of...burning there, like a freshly lit flame. It had been there for a long, long time now, always a low, soft burn with occasional flickers of strength. He was sure he had felt this before-twice before. But both of those times that burn had eventually faded into something softer and more gentle. But only after he had-oh.

Unable to help himself, Marvolo began to chuckle, but the sound was hollow. He had the answer now, the answer to this renewed burn, the answer to many of his most recent questions.

When he looked up, he found both Severus and Lucius peering at him in concern, no doubt because of his sudden laugh. Sighing, he leaned back in his seat and lowered his glass. "Potter is our final mate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information overload, huh? Sorry about that. I ended up combining two chapters because I figured it'd be better to just explain everything at once instead of splitting it up again. Anyway, hope that all made sense. And remember, this whole thing on Elves is my personal version of it created for this fic. It won't be the same in other versions by other people. Comments? Kudos?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was funny, Harry thought, in a very unfunny way, how he still knew so little about the Wizarding world despite having been part of it for the past few years. Creatures? Mates? What did all that mean? Harry didn't know what exactly was about to happen, but there was no way it could be good. Creature fic! Slash fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Thank you to all readers so far!

When Harry woke the next morning, Nagini was once more in his room, just watching him...which was actually pretty creepy. When he asked her what she was doing, all she said was that she was curious about him. Out of a curiosity of his own, the teen then asked whether Voldemort was going to kill him and, surprisingly, the answer was a resounding 'no'.

All that did was make Harry even  _more_  confused!

Voldemort didn't want to kill him? Why not? He hadn't had any problems before, so what had suddenly changed his mind?  _Why_  had he changed his mind? Did it even matter? Was he thankful for that or disappointed? Harry just didn't know.

But...if Voldemort didn't want to kill him anymore, then didn't that just mean that Harry wasn't going to have to kill him either? Which meant the prophecy could just go ignored, right? Because according to that, they could both either live or die. And if the Dark Lord no longer wanted him dead, then-

There was a knock on the door.

Harry jolted in place, and then calmed and called out a hesitant, "Er, come in."

The door opened to reveal Lucius Malfoy, who greeted him with a small smile. "Good morning, Harry."

"Uh, morning."

"How are you feeling today?"

"F-fine." Harry had no idea how to answer these polite questions. He wasn't exactly used to adults caring very much. Not to mention his previous conversations with this man hadn't exactly been positive-not until he had found him in the park.

Malfoy simply smiled again, this time reassuringly. "Marvolo wishes to speak to you, Harry. He'd like for you to join him for breakfast."

Harry just nodded. This wasn't exactly surprising. He had expected Voldemort to question him earlier than this anyway. There was no point getting nervous about it or trying to get out of this. This was something that had needed to be done a long time ago.

So, once Malfoy left the room, Nagini deciding to follow the blond out, Harry slid out of bed and headed to the loo to freshen up, before leaving his room to make his way to the smaller dining room where they had breakfast and snacks.

Voldemort was already there (he really probably should be calling him Marvolo now that he looked like...that, but he still couldn't bring himself to actually do it), seated at his usual seat at the head of the table, seemingly engrossed in the newest edition of the Daily Prophet. But he looked up when Harry entered, putting the paper aside and gesturing for the teen to take the seat opposite him.

Harry did so and at first they just ate in silence, another awkward silence around them. The green eyed teen paid little attention to what he was eating though, possible questions and answers floating through his mind.

It was only when they were half way through their breakfast that Voldemort finally spoke. "Have you heard the entire prophecy yet, Potter?"

Harry froze and then nodded, taking a sip of juice and setting his goblet back down. "I have, yeah." He regarded the man closely, considering, then said, "It said I'd have some power you wouldn't know and, in my opinion, that we have to either both live or die."

Voldemort didn't look surprised. "What do you suppose this power is?"

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea," he replied truthfully. "Dumbledore seems to think it's love though."

"...Love?" Here, the man frowned. "Dumbledore believes love will kill me?"

"I guess? He said the difference between us is that I can love while you can't. ...But I guess that's wrong, since you're, you know, with Malfoy and Snape." Well, unless it was just for the sex, what with him being a sex demon or something.

Voldemort continued to frown. "That is a...bizarre theory."

"Hey, I'm not the one thinking that."

"I realize that." Crimson eyes searched his face carefully. "What would you say if I told you I no longer have any desire or need to harm you?"

"I'd wonder if you were lying to me first, but if you weren't, then I'd be fine with that. I never wanted to have anything to do with this war anyway."

The man raised a brow, surprise crossing his face briefly. "No?"

Harry sighed. He hadn't been thinking about this for very long, and honestly had no idea how to explain any of it. "This war is...weird," he said after a long moment of silence. "You and Dumbledore are obviously leaders of the two sides, but I feel like no one besides you two really even knows anything about the war. You two know what everyone's fighting for, but no one else does and are just following along without realizing they don't even know anything."

Voldemort said nothing and just continued to regard him closely. Harry didn't let that deter him.

"I don't know what or how much you tell your Death Eaters, but they seem to think you're fighting for blood purity-or at least that's what they go around telling everyone, but that doesn't make sense since their own leader isn't even a Pureblood. And I can guarantee you that the people fighting for Dumbledore don't know anything he doesn't want them to."

"You believe he has been concealing information from you all?"

"Believe? No, I  _know_  he is," Harry replied with a scowl. "He just...says what people want to hear, that's all. Myself included. But I don't buy it anymore." Not since Sirius had died. Not since he was told Remus had no legal rights to him, despite his parents' wills, because he was a werewolf. Not since he had admitted that he was aware of what the Dursleys had been doing for all these years.

"I'm...sure a lot of people involved have their own personal reasons for fighting, but at the same time, I really do think there's a lot more who seriously have no idea why they're even fighting."

"You think they do not question it?"

Harry shrugged somewhat helplessly. "I thought they would, and I'm sure some do, but speaking for myself, half the Order members I asked never seemed to have a clear answer for me. It just sort of makes me wonder how the Death Eaters would reply if they were asked the same question."

"...And what of you yourself? Why have you been fighting, Potter?"

The teen didn't have to think long or hard for the answer to that. "I fought because I was told to. Because I was expected to. I fought because I didn't know any better."

Voldemort seemed to frown here, looking slightly confused. "And that is why you wish to no longer fight? Because you have learned better?"

Harry shrugged again, sipping more juice. "To sum it up, yes." He hesitated, then added, "When Malfoy found me in the park the other day...when he told me he wanted me to go with him, I know it doesn't seem like it, but I did know what I was doing. I know I was really out of it that day, but I knew going with him would land me here in this place with you. I knew it could lead to torture, and I knew it could lead to death."

The Dark Lord said nothing, eating more of his meal in silence as he waited for Harry to continue speaking.

"I don't know  _why_  those things haven't happened-the torture and death, and I'm not complaining about it or anything, but I'd rather be dead than take part in this daft war I don't even understand. And sure, people wonder why I don't want to 'avenge' my parents' deaths, but I don't think mum and dad, and even Sirius would want me to do this stuff without properly understanding, because it's just going to get me killed if I don't."

Slowly, Voldemort nodded. "I see... Then you would prefer simply remaining neutral to he war? Or would you be willing to aid the Dark?"

Harry's head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed. "I won't be fighting for you either," he declared firmly. "Just because I don't really want to be on Dumbledore's side, doesn't mean I automatically want to be on yours. If you want my help in any capacity when it comes to this whole thing, then you have to tell me what the hell the Dark is even fighting for. Because blood purity is something I don't give a damn about. I'm perfectly fine with Muggleborns being around. One of my best friends is one, and my mum was one too."

Voldemort tipped his goblet towards him, as if conceding to that, then said, "There is much I wish to do that tends to go ignored, despite the fact that Dumbledore is entirely aware of them. As for my message itself-it has never been blood purity. That is what it has ended up being warped into by the ignorant, some of whom are my own Death Eaters, unfortunately.

"But we will take this one step at a time. You will be remaining here for the remainder of your summer break, and rest assured that no harm will come to you while you are here. If I summon my other Death Eaters, I may ask for you to remain in your room until they leave. Is that acceptable?"

Harry frowned but nodded. "Yeah, that's fine." He didn't want to wander the manor with crazy Death Eaters around anyway. It was best if he kept himself out of sight on those days. It wasn't a big deal.

"I should like to speak to Severus and Lucius first, but we will resume this conversation in a day or two." He made to get up, then paused, and said, "I assume you still wish to return to Hogwarts in September despite your newfound views on Dumbledore?"

"Yeah." Dumbledore or not, Hogwarts was his home. He had to go back. He'd figure out what to do about the Headmaster later.

"Hmm... At present, the Order is unaware that you are currently not at Privet Drive."

Harry blinked, genuinely surprised. "Snape hasn't told them?"

"He did not, no. And if they do, he is to feign ignorance on any knowledge of what has happened to you. If they do realize you are missing at some point over the course of this month, an excuse for your whereabouts will have to be prepared for when you return to Hogwarts."

Slowly, the teen nodded. "I'll think on that then."

"Good." The man stood and smoothed down his shirt. "Finish your breakfast. You'll want to begin on your summer homework soon, I would presume." With that, he left the room.

Harry watched him go and once he was alone, released a sigh of relief. Not many of his questions had been answered, if any, but that had gone better than he had expected. There was still a lot to go through, but at least it was a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. This is the last bit I have already written, so updates are going to be slowing down now. Comments? Kudos?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! Sorry about the wait. Thank you to all readers so far!

As Voldemort had suggested, Harry did get started on his summer assignments after he finished his breakfast. Regardless of all the chaos currently happening in his life, homework was always a not so reassuring constant, wasn't it? Or maybe it wasn't, since summer homework was something he'd never really been able to properly do before.

He would say it was strange that he was being encouraged to do it, but with Hermione in his life, that wasn't a new thing. ...Okay, well, Hermione  _nagged_  at him to do his homework more than she  _encouraged_ , but still.

But he worked alone and in silence, actually forgetting where he was and what had happened as he did so. He didn't even mind. Everything had been very...weird recently. Having a bit of a break from all of that, even if he was just doing homework, was probably a good thing.

And as he worked, he was unaware that the other three men had once again gathered to discuss things...

* * *

"Do you plan on telling him then?" asked a curious Lucius.

"It will change nothing," Severus replied before Marvolo could speak. "Telling him the truth will hardly mend the problems between us all."

"Severus is right," Marvolo said with an incline of his head. "Potter will need time-we all will to come to terms with this. With all of it. Telling him he is our mate is bound to frighten him away, and that is the last thing we want or need. Give him time to get used to his new heritage, time to learn that we are his mates. If he comes to us, asking if any of us are his mates, admit it-do not hide it from him, but give him time to decide what he wishes to do with this and in terms of this war."

Lucius frowned and crossed his legs elegantly. "Has he said anything about the war yet?"

"Not more than he has no desire to fight-not for the Light, and not for the Dark."

"Then he prefers to remain neutral?"

"For the time being, yes." Marvolo leaned further back in his seat. "I have the feeling his primary concern with the war lies with those he cares for. Knowing Potter the way I believe I do, he will want to ensure the safety of those people long before he will care about that of his own. If these people are still followers of the Light, then it is obvious that he will be hesitating. He can hardly join the Dark when everyone he cares for is fighting for the opposite side."

That certainly made sense to the men. Regardless of what Potter's own opinion on the war was, and regardless of which side, if any, he preferred to be on, he wasn't likely to take action unless it was clear to him that everyone he cared about was either on the same side as him, or at least safe and away from whichever side posed the most danger to them.

But what side in this battle did those people want to be on? Who did they want to support? Who did they want to win? They couldn't know the answer to that without asking Potter himself, or perhaps those friends of his.

But if they were safe, what then? What would Potter choose then? What would Potter decide then?

* * *

Harry spent almost the entire day on his summer homework, managing to get a good chunk of it done though there was still a bit left. He was just setting aside his final essay of the day, when there was a knock on the door, Lucius entering the room a second later.

"Your owl just arrived with post for you," he said without preamble, holding out an envelope. "The bird is resting in the owlrey with the others. Here." With a small smile, he left the room as soon as the envelope was in Harry's hands, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Harry stared after him, more amused than anything else, not having expected the abrupt entrance and exit. But he turned his attention to the main in his hands. His name, printed on the front of the envelope was small but very neat, and it took the teen only an instant to recognize who the handwriting belonged to.

Inside the envelope was a folded sheet of parchment. It was a letter, written in that same familiar handwriting, and with a frown of slight confusion, mostly because he hadn't expected this at all, he read over the letter.

_'Harry,_

_I know you said we shouldn't write to you this summer, but something's come up and I'd like to let you know about it. I've been exchanging letters with Luna, and we've been discussing the prophecy. As you know, she believes in this sort of thing, while I personally don't. I figured there's some sort of standing here, as there's an entire hall devoted to them at the Ministry, so I thought I would ask her more about it._

_While she said she can't be sure without seeing any of the shards, Luna said there's always a possibility that the prophecy was fake. She said that she isn't a seer herself, but her great grandmother was one, and frauds are very common in that particular field. And even if it wasn't fake, it could be easily interpreted in the wrong way, since they're usually very vague._

_What do you think about all this? You've heard the prophecy, haven't you? I know you didn't tell any of us about it, but you've definitely heard it. Do you think it was fake or maybe taken in the wrong way?_

_Take care of yourself,_   
_Hermione'_

Harry blinked. The prophecy could maybe be fake? He had thought that it could be wrong, of course, but it being fake was something he had never really considered before, which was actually kind of strange because it wasn't like he thought much of divination either.

If it  _was_  fake though, what then? What did that mean? What did that mean for the war? What did that mean for Voldemort? What did that mean for him...?

Harry wrote back to Hermione, and then wrote to Luna as well. He was determined to learn more about the prophecy. He had to know if it was fake or not. If it was, then to him, it would be as if he had just been set up for all of this his entire life by people who believed in a fake prophecy. That and it being fake would give him the perfect reason to get out of the war. If he wasn't fated to fight the Dark Lord, then he didn't have to fight at all, right?

Because he didn't want to. He  _really_  didn't want to be fighting. It was almost silly how it was something he hadn't really even thought about before. He had always just felt like he had to do it, and had never questioned it. But now that he had a possible way out, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Things were already strange enough without him having to add the entire war on his plate as well. Part of him wanted to run up to Voldemort, declaring the prophecy was fake, but at the same time, it wasn't as if he knew that for sure. Luna had said she'd need the prophecy orb itself to verify her thoughts, or at least the broken shards, but Harry didn't have access to those.

Sirius had broken the orb in the scuffle, maybe by accident, maybe on purpose. Harry didn't really know. And none of them had been paying any attention to the voice that had come out of it at the time, since they had all been busy dodging spells from that damned traitor.

So there really was no way to determine one hundred percent whether the prophecy was real or fake. To Harry, that made him feel like he was just back at square one. He just wanted an out. This would have been the perfect one. But now nothing could be done about that either.

So what could he do? Was his only option really just to rely on Voldemort? He didn't have any desire to actually join him or the Dark, but...was he really going to have to count on him to ensure neutrality in all this?

Harry was getting very confused about near everything that was going on. He was so used to people always telling him what to do, but now that he had to figure things out on his own, he just couldn't understand what was happening.

He felt so...lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. Comments? Kudos?


End file.
